


Following Your Heart Into Despair and Despondency

by startwithsparks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Southern Gothic, Unrequited Love, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every night he watches her with the ones who seek her services, never confessing, but always wondering if somehow she already knows...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Following Your Heart Into Despair and Despondency

She wandered in from the forest as dawn lazily rolled over the horizon, mud on her feet and leaves clinging to her dress and tangled in her wild, dark hair. Jaqen watched her from the open window, a cup of coffee still too hot to drink warming his hands. He didn't worry about her when she was out in the forest, though he still woke at night in a panic, searching the trees for the fires or the shouts of angry villagers. Their escape had left a mark on him, one that she didn't seem to carry at all, and too often he remembered that his life was indebted to her. He was her protector now, as much as anyone could be. But even with her milk-white gaze, a battle-scar from that fateful night, she knew the forest and its inhabitants as well as she knew her own heartbeat. At times she claimed she could hear it - the murmur of leaves and curious chatter of animals, even the hungry snarls of the wolves that howled aching, wanting, in the forest behind their cabin.

The door opened, wood grinding against wood, and she braced her hand on the doorframe as she stepped down off the ledge. Closing the door behind her, she turned to him, a smile light on her chapped lips.

"Is that for me?" she asked, smelling the chicory in the air.

"It's hot," he warned as he handed the cup to her. But she grasped it and drank greedily, as if the heat didn't faze her at all. He ran his hands through her hair, plucking out the bits of leaves that clung to it, then leaned forward and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to her forehead. "Let's get you cleaned up."

She followed him easily to the back of the cabin, all this was routine now, and even though she had been adamant at first that she could still take care of herself without him, she had eventually relented to him and allowed him to do some things for her. He'd already poured hot water into a shallow tin tub, and it had cooled while he waited for her to return. She felt for the stool and eased herself down, hearing the crease in his pants as he knelt in front of her and delicately placed her feet in the water. He scrubbed the dirt from the soles of her feet and her toes, ran his cloth up to her knees, and even took her hands, one at a time, to wash them. Then as she finished her coffee, he carefully combed the tangles from her hair, until it shone black like obsidian in the morning sunlight. She handed him the empty cup and shuffled towards the bed while she lifted her dress over her head and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. Jaqen pulled the blankets over her slim, pale body and smoothed her hair away from her face, leaving her to sleep.

While the night belonged to her, all of his duties were better left to the daylight. He cleaned up, ate a stale bit of bread and some cold meat leftover from the night before, then took his shotgun and a pocket full of shells out into the forest.

He'd been a trapper long before they were cast out of town. In the years since, it had long proved a benefit - keeping food on their table and occasionally furs to warm them in the winter months. The drippings of fat were stored and used for Arya's ointment, mixed with dried and crushed herbs from their little garden or found growing wild around them. The money she got from her services they used for things the forest couldn't provide them: bullets for him, fabric for clothes, and the occasional bottle of 'shine. He never knew what demon got into her to give her a taste for the stuff, but it made her happy, warmed her cheeks, and occasionally even gave her the urge to return his kisses; none of which he had any reason to protest.

Jaqen spent the day checking traps, resetting what he needed to and marking tracks. They were lucky that morning, he found a hog caught in one of the big traps. He'd tried to gnaw his own leg off, but only got halfway through - snorting and squealing - before Jaqen put a bullet in the back of his head. With the hog slung across his shoulders, he checked the shore off the marsh for gator tracks, then started the long trek back.

By the time he returned the sun had passed overhead and was now dipping below the tree line on the other side. The sky had taken on shades of pink and purple, with the faintest wisps of smoky blue clouds. Inside the fire was already lit and crackling warmly. He wrangled the door open and leaned his gun inside, hauling the hog to the back table where he heaved it off his shoulders with a dull thud. Arya was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, the sheets wrapped around her body, their cat curled in her lap and purring loudly. He wiped the sweat from her face and crouched down behind her, his hand lingering on her bare shoulder. For a moment neither said anything, until the fire sputtered and roared a little hotter.

"What do you see?" she asked, her head lulling lazily to the side.

Jaqen shifted, sitting on the floor with his legs outstretched behind her and a hand propping him up. His other hand still drew lazy spirals across her skin. It wasn't an easy question to answer, he'd been paying more attention to the way soft shadows flickered across the hollows in her collarbones than the fire itself, but now he looked - looked hard - until the light of the fire blurred everything on the edge of his vision and he could see the shades of yellow and red dancing through the flames. He drew in a deep breath, his hand resting against her back, and tried to see the forms in the fire.

"Fire," he answered, causing Arya to elbow him softly in the chest. He laughed warmly and leaned up to rest his cheek against her shoulder. "I see an apple split in half, and behind it a symbol, like this..." he eased her hair off her back and traced a line down her spine, with lines on either side jutting out at a narrow angle.

Arya let her eyes fall closed again and nodded, "I haven't had apples in so long," she murmured.

Jaqen nodded, "I'll get you some next time I'm in town."

She smiled and rest her cheek against his, then shooed the cat from her lap as she twist around to her knees. Jaqen stood and took her hand to help her up, making sure she didn't trip over her sheets. Without a word she moved to the chest near the end of the bed and felt through their clothes. Her fingers knew every piece from the texture of the fabric or the worn lace, even the subtle changes in stitching were enough to tell her which was which. As Jaqen went for his knife to start cleaning the hog, she dropped her sheet and wiggled into a simple white shift, straps at the shoulders, and laces at the sides, which she tightened enough that the dress clung to her waist and narrow hips. She took a hunk of bread and the cat with her when she stepped out onto the porch, settling into the old wooden rocking chair while she waited for nighttime's visitors to arrive.

Jaqen tried not to think about it and went back to the hog, stripping the skin from the meat and the meat from the bone. He fished out the spent bullet with his fingers and tossed it in a tin can under the table. The organs were put aside, everything from the brain to the guts, and the skull set safely aside to be cleaned and put outside. He was up to his elbows in blood and viscera when he heard the faint sound of voices from outside. His fingers still caked dark red, he went to the door, and nudged it open to see a man standing at the foot of their stairs.

The visitor looked up suddenly and stared at Jaqen with wide-eyed curiosity, but Arya waved dismissively and said "Go on."

Nervously, the man turned his attention back to her. "I got a brother-in-law," he said, "been causing trouble, and my sister's got two little babies to look after..."

Arya nodded, "I can help you."

"How much?"

Jaqen caught a vague shift in her posture, and her fingers stretched over the arms of the rocking chair. "Fifty," she said.

The man swallowed thick and worried his hat between his hands. "I ain't got that much."

She wet her lips and rocked back on the chair. "What have you got that would be of value to me?"

He could see the visitor searching his brain for anything that might be useful. Then his eyes fell on Jaqen again, the blood on sundry up his arms. "I got a real good hunting hound," he said. "Good for quail and rabbits too. The bitch just had pups and there's time to train 'em up before fall. I also got some clothes that the wife and I can't wear no more... not worth mendin' when there's no one can wear 'em."

Arya nodded, "I'll take them, and what you've got in your pocket. And in return you'll have a solution to your problem tonight."

"Yes ma'am," he nodded, "thank you. I'll be back with the rest in the morning."

"You would be wise to," she warned as she stood, the cat leaping down from her lap.

She motioned for him to follow, though Jaqen only held the door open long enough for her, and led him in to the dimly-lit cabin. It still smelled of blood, but she didn't seem to notice. On the South wall of the cabin, there were rows of shelves with jars and wooden boxes full of herbs and ointments. Jaqen went back to the hog but watched the two of them carefully as Arya fetched small square tin and a glass bottle with a heavy round bottom. She dug a bit of scrap cloth out of the bin on the floor and laid it out on the windowsill. A little from one and a little more from the other were mixed together, her fingers doing what her eyes couldn't as she precisely measured every last grain. Then she tied the pouch and handed it off to the man. In exchange he pressed a few crumpled bills and tarnished coins into her palm with a soft thanks.

"Put it in his drink," she said. "It should take an hour."

He murmured his appreciation and paid a respectful nod to Jaqen as he quickly rushed from the cabin. Arya smirked as the door clicked shut behind him, and leaned against the wall next to the window.

"I think you scared him," she said, crossing her arms.

"Good," Jaqen answered, "he had a look about him I didn't like."

She shook her head and made her way back towards the porch. "You say that about everyone."


End file.
